Aldric didn't so much dismiss them as forget they existed.

  One moment he was standing there, grim and ancient and terrifying. The next, he'd turned back toward the ritual, already muttering to himself, staff glowing with threads of white light that began weaving intricate patterns in the air.

  "Out," he said absently, waving one hand. "All of you. I need to work."

  Magic pressed against them. Not violent, just insistent. Like being politely but firmly escorted to the door by an invisible bouncer.

  They blinked then found themselves standing outside the dungeon entrance, wincing in the sudden sunlight.

  For a long moment, nobody spoke. They just stood there, processing. The purge. The ritual. The casual declaration of extermination.

  The silence stretched on.

  John cleared his throat. "Sooo... read any good books lately?"

  Four heads turned to stare at him.

  "What?" John spread his hands. "I'm trying to lighten the mood."

  "By asking about books?" Marcus said incredulously.

  "You don’t like books? Guess that makes Erin the brains of the-"

  Marcus raised his fist.

  "Sheesh." John raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. We'll just stand here in existential dread. That's fine too."

  Lia's lips twitched despite herself. Even Leon's stern expression cracked slightly.

  "You're very strange," Erin observed, but there was no heat in it.

  "I've been told."

  Hours passed.

  The sun climbed higher, then began its slow descent. Inside the dungeon, occasional flashes of white light leaked from the entrance, accompanied by sounds that made John's teeth ache. High-pitched frequencies that weren't quite sound, that he could feel pass through his whole body.

  Nobody went near the entrance. Whatever Aldric was doing in there, it wasn't something you interrupted.

  Marcus had claimed a flat boulder and was methodically checking his armor, tightening straps, examining joints for wear. Leon sat cross-legged nearby, eyes closed in what might have been meditation or prayer. Lia had pulled out a small journal and was making notes, her handwriting tiny and precise.

  Erin had gotten out her grooming kit and was working on Frostfeather. The griffin preened under the attention, wings half-spread, making pleased chirping sounds that seemed wildly at odds with her predatory appearance.

  John watched for a moment, fascinated by the care she took. Checking each feather, smoothing out the disturbed plumage, working some kind of oil into the joints where wing met body.

  "How did the duel go anyway?" John asked Leon, mostly to break the silence. "Any tips?"

  Leon opened one eye. "You held your own remarkably well."

  "You really have trained," Lia said, looking up from her journal. Her enthusiasm was immediate and genuine. "The way you read his feints? You adapted so quickly!"

  "It was impressive," Leon agreed. "Your fundamentals are solid. Better than solid. They're excellent. But there's something about the way you move..." He trailed off, studying John with that calculating look. "It's like you'd fought me before."

  John shifted uncomfortably. "I practice a lot?"

  "Mm." Leon didn't push, but the thoughtful expression remained.

  The dungeon entrance flared bright white, then settled. A moment later, something emerged. A bird made of pure light.

  A pigeon.

  Not a majestic eagle or fierce hawk. A regular, dumpy-looking pigeon, complete with iridescent neck feathers and a mildly constipated expression.

  John stared.

  The pigeon wobbled once, oriented on some invisible compass, then shot off toward the horizon with incredible speed.

  Aldric emerged from the dungeon, looking no more tired than when he'd entered. He noticed John's expression and one white eyebrow rose.

  "You have something to say about Pebbles?"

  "Pebbles?" John echoed.

  "My messenger."

  "I..." John scrambled for words. "I like pigeons. Noble birds. The noblest of birds, really."

  Frostfeather's head snapped around. The griffin let out an outraged screech.

  "I meant second noblest!" John amended quickly. "After griffins! Obviously! Griffins are very noble! So noble! The most—"

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  Frostfeather huffed and returned to her grooming, radiating satisfaction.

  Aldric's lips twitched. "Wise." He turned to the group. "The ritual chamber is sealed. Properly, this time."

  He looked at each of them in turn. "There will be commendations for all of you. You acted swiftly, contained the threat, and had the wisdom to call for appropriate assistance." His gaze settled on Lia. "You're Academy-bound, yes? Valen Arcanum?"

  "Yes, Grand Magister." Lia straightened. "Spring term."

  "I'll send a letter." He produced a small crystal from his robes. "This should expedite certain opportunities."

  Lia's eyes went wide. "Grand Magister, I—thank you. Thank you so much."

  Aldric's attention shifted. "And you?" He looked at John.

  "I’m not a student," John said.

  "You should be!" Lia interjected immediately. "John, with your aptitude, the resources there—"

  "She's right," Leon added. "Raw talent only takes you so far. Proper instruction—"

  John held up a hand. "I'll think about it."

  The truth was more complicated. In the game, the Academy was a goldmine of quests and training opportunities. You could absorb knowledge quickly. Want to learn fireball? Here's a book. Congratulations. Now you know fireball.

  He didn’t think it would be so easy here.

  Might be fun, though. A second chance at college. Without the crippling debt. Without the people who'd made his life hell and couldn't even be bothered to remember doing it.

  Maybe this time would be different.

  The Mage Killer class did need it. Specifically, it required learning certain spellwork before you could specialize in countering it. You had to understand the enemy to destroy them.

  "I'll think about it," he repeated.

  Aldric studied him for a moment longer, those ancient eyes seeming to see more than John wanted to reveal. "Your choice. Though you'd be wasting that unusual resistance of yours." A pause. "I will ensure you are adequately rewarded nonetheless."

  John's stomach dropped. Did Aldric just confirm he knew about the purge immunity?

  Before John could parse that a sound cut through the air.

  Distant at first, then rapidly growing louder. Not the screech of griffins or the whistle of wind, but something mechanical. Rhythmic. Like massive bellows working in perfect synchronization.

  John looked up.

  A carriage floated into view over the ravine's edge. An actual carriage, with polished wood, brass fittings, and curtained windows. Suspended beneath an array of crystalline rings that rotated in complex patterns. The whole thing glowed with enough ambient mana to make John's spell resistance tingle.

  Four griffins flanked it, their riders in matching uniform, deep blue with silver trim. The carriage descended in a smooth arc, touching down with barely a bump.

  "Took them long enough," Aldric muttered.

  The door opened. A woman emerged first. Tall, severe, gray hair pulled into a tight bun. She took one look at Aldric and immediately bowed. "Grand Magister. We came as quickly as—"

  "The ritual chamber is sealed," Aldric interrupted. "Sixth level, eastern passage. Document everything. Touch nothing."

  "Of course, Grand Magister."

  More people emerged from the carriage. Scholars in robes, scribes with leather satchels, a few who wore the practical clothes of professional dungeon delvers. They moved with efficient purpose, already unpacking equipment.

  Aldric watched them for a moment, then turned back to Leon. "Your task here is complete. I'm granting you and your team leave."

  Leon blinked. "Grand Magister, we can assist with—"

  Aldric silenced him with a look.

  "Thank you," Lia said quietly. "Truly."

  "Thank you, Grand Magister," Leon echoed, bowing. The others followed suit.

  John hesitated, then tried to copy them. How deep? Was there a hand position? He bent forward at the waist, kept his eyes down, and nearly lost his balance.

  Smooth. Very smooth.

  When he straightened, a notification blazed across his vision.

  [Quest Complete: Greyford Saved]

  [Reward: +10 Attribute Points]

  John barely managed not to fist-pump again.

  Aldric waved them off irritably. "Yes, yes."

  The flight back to Greyford felt different.

  Maybe it was the relief of having the dungeon properly sealed. Maybe it was the prospect of actual rest. Maybe John was just getting used to being magically grabbed and transported against his will.

  Or maybe it was just that flying with Erin was objectively amazing.

  Frostfeather climbed higher than necessary, clearly showing off after the pigeon comment. The wind was sharp and cold, the sun warm on John's face. Below, the forest spread like a living map, the river cutting silver through the green.

  "You really do love this," Erin called back, amusement in her voice.

  "It's incredible!" John shouted over the wind.

  "First time you looked terrified. Now you look like a child at a festival."

  "Because this is amazing! How do you not do this constantly?"

  "I do." Erin laughed. "I absolutely do."

  Frostfeather banked hard, just for fun, and John's stomach did acrobatics. But he was grinning, wide enough that his face hurt.

  Below, Greyford came into view. The inn. The square. Tiny figures moving through streets, living their lives, unaware that the world had just gotten a little bit safer.

  For now, at least.

  Frostfeather descended in a lazy spiral, showing off, and touched down in the square with barely a sound. John dismounted with significantly more grace than last time. Still not perfect, but definitely improving.

  "Thank you," he told Frostfeather seriously. "For the ride. And for being so patient with me."

  The griffin chirped and bumped her head against his chest, nearly knocking him over.

  "She likes you," Erin said, sounding surprised. "She doesn't usually like people."

  "I'm very likeable," John said. "It's my defining trait."

  "Is it now?"

  "Absolutely. Ask anyone."

  Erin snorted and shook her head, but she was smiling.

  Marcus arrived next, Ironwing landing with enough force to crack the cobblestones. The big man patted his griffin's neck apologetically. Leon and Lia came in moments later on Shadowfoot, the borrowed griffin touching down with practiced ease despite its unfamiliar riders. Leon dismounted, then helped his sister down despite her protest that she could manage perfectly well.

  The moment they were clear, Shadowfoot launched skyward without prompting, wings beating hard as it climbed. Within moments it was just a dark speck against the clouds, already heading back to its rider.

  They stood in the square, the five of them, as villagers began to gather. Curious eyes, hopeful faces.

  "So," John said into the quiet. "What now?"

  Leon looked at the inn. At the village.

  "Now," he said, "we celebrate."